The Realm of Ganoltir: Strife, Exploration, and Prosperity
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"Hold," Brannik says, raising a hand. "Trouble?" He squints upriver, hoping to catch any signs of movement.
[sblock=Mechanics]Perception to see what kind of horn that is (war horn?) and look for trouble/movement: 17(1d20) +10 = 27[/sblock]
[sblock=Brannik]The horn distinctly sounds like a war horn to you, however you are unable to see anything as where the sound came from is behind a small hill.[/sblock]
"Might be a battle," the dwarf warns. "I think we should investigate. It's important to know which king is the aggressor here."
"Aye, but let's keep our distance," Wes nods to the dwarf. "It wouldn't do us well to get caught in the skirmish." Especially if we're recognized by our former comrades.
"Seems an odd place for a battle if it is," Adrian responds, following after the others as they head towards the sound. "If someone is crossing the river it is definitely not going to go in their favor, I'd wager."
"We're here for plants," Brannik says. "But there's never a bad time for espionage." He edges towards the sound alongside his allies.
"Agreed. Information is no doubt the most important resource in this war," Wes replies as they approach the source of the sound. "And we're still part of it regardless of our changed allegiances."
As you make your way towards the crest of the hill the sound of battle grows louder, the thundering of hooves, shouts and cries, and the clash of steel on steel. While the sounds are familiar to you all, as seasoned warriors you can tell it is far from a large battle. Keeping low, you eventually reach a vantage point over the fighting.
Towards the bottom of the hill you see around twenty men on horseback fighting about the same number on foot. The men on foot appear to be attempting to form a defensive formation while the calvary pick off those too slow to join or cut off from their allies in the fray. Several men and horses lay dead or wounded on the ground already. To the South, you see that several large row boats have been beached along the riverbank.
The mounted men, and one or two of their comrades reduced to fighting on foot, bear the unmistakable sigil and colours of House Torinn with the other combatants flying a less recognisable flaming sword on white.
[sblock=Wes]As a Menoran Noble you easily recognise the second sigil as that of House Stane, the rulers of nearby Dalinym.[/sblock]
[sblock=Everyone Else]You might know what the 2nd sigil is, if you want to make a history check.[/sblock]
"Torinn's bannermen," the dwarf remarks, pointing toward the cavalry. "But who are the footmen?"
"Men of House Stane," Wes replies plainly, instantly identifying the banner of one of his countymen. Recognizing his companions, barring Chloe, wouldn't know the name, he adds, "The ruling house of Dalinym in Malverne."
"Judging by the size it is probably a scouting party, or perhaps a small group of guerrillas," Adrian says, eyeing the beached boats. "Though given the cavalry encounter, it seems they are not nearly as good at their job as they thought they were," he continues. Turning his attention back to the boats, he tries to gauge if it seems like there are others hiding out based on the number and size of the vessels.
"Don't get made. This is not our fight, and we are not equipped to scrap with that many men."
The dwarf watches the confrontation, eager to see what the cavalry do to the surrounded defenders.
The bulk of the mounted Torinn men hold back as their allies finish off the last of the Stane stragglers, giving both sides time to form up. A wall of shields and spears on one side with a calvry wedge on the other, with the numbers now tipped to the Torinn side's favour.
As the remaining riders join the formation the order to charge is given and the horses thunder forward, crashing into the Stane shield wall. Several Torinn men and horses fall in the initial charge, with the sound of spears splintering and wounded horses. However the charge serves its purpose, breaking the Stane force's formation, allowing the remaining riders to quickly overwhelm them, the final outcome of the skirmish quickly becoming apparent.
“Divine take this war,” Brannik mumbles, watching the violence ensue. He turns to the others, his face grim. “These bloody skirmishes still rage. This should be a reminder for us to tread with caution, at all times. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of a cavalry charge like that.”
"Yes," Adrian responds. "We'd be wise to not stay here long, else they spot us and assume we are reinforcements for their defeated foe. I could do without taking a lance to the face," he adds, as he turns to head back the way they'd came.
Wes grimaces as the soldiers of his homeland are quickly cut down by the cavalrymen. Inara guide your souls. I pray the rest of their footsoldiers are not so poorly trained.
"Tis good we've got that cave to call our home. That should lessen the chances of a battle upon our doorstep," Wes remarks, turning away from the grizzly site of the near-end battle.
Turn 2
With the party intent on avoiding any confrontation with the victors of the skirmish, you quietly withdraw and begin making your way back to the Cavern of Whispers. You return without further incident and after a day of rest and recuperation you find yourselves discussing your next move.
With the group in agreement, you set off with plans to head for Gresham, which lies a couple of days to North on the Southern bank of the Laissen. The journey across the Steppe also provides you with an opportunity to look for the Knettle Sage and Olina petals that Farryn requires.
As they walk, Wes keeps his eyes peeled for any of Farryn's requested ingredients. Knettle Sage and Olina Petals... I wonder what those are used for.
Brannik's usual knack for spotting plantlife is thwarted by his active imagination. A recruit? Is word of our feats spreading? This can only mean danger as much as it means serendipity.
Moving towards the village, Adrian thinks about the man they are aiding and how much of hassle it is to procure the items he needs to become useful. Hopefully this is not a wasted effort. If the man turns out to be a charlatan we might as well tie him up and toss him into the river.
After a couple of uneventful days walking through the empty steppe, the main road between Gresham and Parth comes into view. You keep the road close to the horizon, lest any hostile forces pass by, and soon - as you crest a small hillock - a fork in the road comes into view with one fork leading to Gresham and the other to Oak Crossing. It's feint and hazy but from your slight elevation you think you can just about make out the towers of Stag's Rest, the castle adjacent to the town of Gresham.
"Stag's Rest," Brannik says, gesturing toward the towers with his hammer. "Now let's hope there's no bounty on us," the dwarf half-jests. He continues making his way toward the city of Gresham.
"If there is, we'll be treated to the welcome parade," Wes replies, smirking, as they approach the city. Overlooking the Steppe ahead, he spots a patch of Knettle Sage. Pointing it out, he adds, "And there's that sage Farryn is after."
"Even then, it'd sure would feel nice being welcomed for once. Creeping across the plains like we're three steps from colliding into a sortie of loyal bannermen is tiresome."
"Aye," Adrian responds, as the conversation turns to their recently becoming outlaws. "Though, we are likely presumed dead at this point, I'd wager. More likely than being wanted criminals. It is not as if many people have seen our faces of late, and most of those people are now dead," the man says, chuckling slightly at the thought.
"Such a quandary begs the question if being forgotten is worse than death," Brannik adds, snorting a single laugh. "But notoriety requires leaving a few of these thieving fuckers alive. And we all know that's asking too much of us."
"Forgotten in the present, yes. But the future may remember us for our deeds," Wes replies to the dwarf's hypothetical. "And we'd be remembered better than a trio of ignorant kings who threw us into war for nothing."
Having spotted some of the planets Farryn needs, you begin gathering them and after about ten minutes the six of you collectively decide you probably have enough for the Elf's purposes. As you finishing packing your harvest away your attention is drawn back to the road as a caravan approaches.
Five mule drawn carts make their way towards you from the South, clearly laden with goods of some kind. While they're still a couple of minutes from reaching you, you can't make out any banners of any kind and none of the people accompanying the carts appear to be armed or armoured - presumably smallfolk.
"Pretty confident group of caravaners." Brannik watches the carts approach. "I fear that bandits or the 'King's' men might help themselves to such goods."
He grunts, booting a branch out of the way. "Bah. Little that we can do."
Adrian thinks for a moment at Brannik's words, before an idea strikes him. "We could offer our own aid, assuming they are not going too far out of the way for us. Could be a nice bit of extra coin for the cause, and if they are indeed merchants we may make a new contact," he adds, turning to face the approaching caravan as he speaks.
"I've been a caravan guard before, so if they worry we may ourselves be brigands looking to take advantage, my reputation should aid in assuaging their fears." After all, what sort of traveler has not heard tales of the great 'Wind Dancer?' he chuckles to himself.
Brannik cocks his head, eyeing the merchants. "Not a bad idea, Adrian. Though if that is our plan, we should ask them to wait for us while we at least scour the town for rumors or supplies."
"More importantly than coin, its merchants may have information," Wes remarks to the Wind Dancer's suggestion of aid. "They've no doubt been around the Steppe and have heard all the latest news. That could save us some time in town." After all, traveling like that without knowledge on bandits or troop movements would be foolish.
"And strange looks," the dwarf adds. Drawing attention to yourself in a time like this is never a good idea.
"You might be best off doing the talking," Adrian responds to Wes, as they begin to form a plan how to handle the encroaching caravan. "We may be familiar with these lands, but we are still both strangers to it. You can probably ease any of their initial fears better than Brannik or I could."
"Aye," the dwarf nods. "We've fought for your people, but for many we haven't gained their trust."
A proud people, the Tulrissians — and yet, often skeptical.
Wes nods to his companions' suggestion. "That I can do. At least until their fears are assuaged," he remarks, hoping the merchants' fears are minimal. Earning their trust may be hard, though it's something we'll keep forever.
"Well then we might as well head over before the move too far away," Adrian responds, beginning to walk towards the caravan. He make sure to keep his weapon sheathed and his arms away from the hilt, not wanting to alarm the travelers before they even get a chance to speak.
Brannik grunts in agreement and follows along after Adrian. Unable to sheath his heavy hammer, he lugs it carefully along in a manner he hopes will not intimidate the merchants.
As you step on to the road in front of the caravan, one of women riding on the front card holds her left hand up, signalling to the rest of the carts to stop. "Hold! She commands as the whole train of carts comes to a stop.
"What do you want? She asks. "This cargo belongs to the one true King of Tulrisse," she says, as the other members of the convoy watch you closely.
Wes hold his arms up, replying, "We mean you no harm. We simply wished to offer our aid to defending the King's cargo, if you'd welcome it." Perhaps it is better to not directly ask which king she means.
"It's a dangerous time for traveling with the pretenders' armies about, after all. To where are you headed?"
And which King would that be, precisely? Brannik peers at the woman and the caravan in general, looking for any telltale signs of regalia that would give away their allegiance.